


a little time

by starboykeith



Series: guys my age [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Counter Sex, Domestic Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Introspection, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Possessive Behavior, Possessive Shiro (Voltron), Sexual Content, Size Difference, Size Kink, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: He hadn't been looking for a boyfriend that night, or anything more than a one-night stand. Now, with the idea ofhomeburned into his mind, Keith wonders when what he has with Shiro became insufficient.More importantly, he wonders what he wants for them now.





	a little time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avidbeader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Немного подождать](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532861) by [commander_lils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_lils/pseuds/commander_lils)



> thank you avidbeader for requesting this in our exchange, i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> potential spoiler: just a warning that there's a short scene where sendak uncomfortably hits on keith
> 
> title from a little time by the beautiful south

World War Z is kind of a shit movie.

Keith realises this sometime after Brad Pitt survives a plane crash _and_ being impaled by a metal spike, and resolves not to spoil it for Shiro.

“You like this movie?” he asks carefully during the advert break.

Shiro, rinsing the mugs they’d had hot chocolate in, laughs. “Not particularly.”

“Oh.” Keith rolls onto his back, looking at Shiro over the top of the sofa. “There I was thinking you’d be gravely insulted if I didn’t like it.”

“It just happened to be on,” Shiro says, his back to Keith as he places the mugs on the draining board. “Gotta have some pretense for inviting you over.”

The careless comment stings like a needle, and Keith bites his lip hard. He fixes on a smile as Shiro returns and climbs over him, slotting between Keith’s legs as though he belongs there, and maybe he does, Keith thinks cautiously.

Shiro kisses him in that spine-tingling way he has, lips moving slowly and deliberately against Keith’s until Keith gives in and opens for him, shivering at the swipe of Shiro’s tongue over his bottom lip before he pushes inside, licking into Keith’s mouth. Keith tilts his head before Shiro can do it for him, metal fingers tracing his cheekbone with a tenderness that only serves to contrast how the kiss is turning quick and dirty, Shiro’s lips insistent and bruising on Keith’s own.

Keith shifts until he can lift one leg around Shiro’s waist, aligning their hips and feeling Shiro hardening against him too. His hands go into Shiro’s hair, rubbing the shorn edges of his undercut and tugging the longer hair on top and Shiro sighs, breaking the kiss and mouthing at Keith’s jaw.

“Bedroom?” he offers in a murmur.

The advert break is long over, but Keith only spares the television a passing glance before turning it off and tossing the remote on the coffee table. “Yeah,” he says, and presses them close when Shiro tugs him upright, rubbing a hand over the bulging front of Shiro’s sweatpants. “Love you in sweatpants,” he says cheekily, glancing up in time to see shock crossing Shiro’s face before he schools his expression.

 _Love you in sweatpants_ , he repeats in his head. _Love you. Oh, fuck_.

“Love me more out of ‘em,” Shiro says, and he’s grinning like the expression had never left his face, starting to walk toward the bedroom with Keith’s hand held loosely in his. “You coming?”

Afterwards, Keith lies in Shiro’s arms, trailing his fingers through the hair on Shiro’s chest. Shiro’s hand is in Keith’s hair, absently carding through in a way Keith could fall asleep to. He stays awake, though, as he has done every time since July, waiting for explicit permission to stay.

Shiro’s chest rises under Keith’s hand and doesn’t fall, and Keith wonders what terrible thought hovers uncertainly on Shiro’s lips. There’s no reason to believe the thought would be terrible, but tonight feels different somehow: it’s Wednesday – or it was, Keith thinks, glancing at the clock – and that means Shiro has work in the morning.

In the two months past, when Keith’s come over on a weeknight, Shiro usually calls him a cab, or drops him home himself. Somewhere between their first night together and Keith starting college, putting a name to this situation where Keith spends whole weekends with Shiro has been forgotten, and weeknights have become taboo.

Usually, he thinks, hiding his smile against Shiro’s neck, they’re able to content themselves with a lazy make-out session during movie nights.

Usually, the movie is of a higher quality.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Shiro asks, and then, cautiously, “I have work, but – you could stay. I could finish early.”

Keith thinks of his rucksack, abandoned by the front door. No classes tomorrow – and he does have work with him, papers he’d neglected to take out of his bag before rushing out of his and Lance’s flat to greet Shiro parked outside. He thinks about it, studying at Shiro’s kitchen table and drinking coffee from Shiro’s fancy machine. Listening to the clock tick until the sound of Shiro’s key in the door. Standing and kissing him and asking how work was as Shiro shrugs out of his coat.

“Okay,” Keith says, chest tight. The picture in his mind is domestic, breathtakingly so. Shiro has to know by now this is more than a fuck to Keith.

They never did get around to that date.

“Okay,” Shiro says warmly. “Good.”

Tongue between his teeth, Keith teeters on the edge of pushing his luck, but decides to speak his mind. “Why now?”

Shiro swallows, loud beside Keith’s ear. “It’s late,” he says after a moment, and Keith’s heart sinks, but he continues, “and – and I want you to. I’d like to come home to you.”

Keith clenches all his muscles in an effort to stop them shaking, but his fingers persist. “I’d like that, too,” he says quietly.

“I won’t work well tomorrow,” Shiro teases, gathering Keith tighter in his arms, “thinking of you in my bed.”

It’s easier to breathe with the dangerously domestic bubble burst, but Keith’s thoughts linger on the acknowledgement of intimacy between them. _Home_ , he thinks. His heart hurts.

“I won’t be in bed all day,” he pushes back. “Got work to do that doesn’t involve waiting naked for you to come back.”

“Could do both,” Shiro says, voice a little rougher than it was before. Keith’s mouth twitches, fighting a laugh.

“You wish.”

He relaxes into the strong arm Shiro loops around his middle when he turns over, exhaling as Shiro nestles closer and takes his hand. The night has taken on that warm, sleepy quality usually found in the small hours of the morning; that it’s only brushing midnight seems irrelevant.

Shiro presses a kiss to the mark he’d made on Keith’s neck, at the juncture where it meets his shoulder and where t-shirts won’t cover it up. Keith likes it when Shiro marks him, likes to admire them the next day, warm and full at the thought of someone who – cares for him.

Keith thinks about Shiro’s face when he’d said the L-word.

He wonders what would have happened if he had intended an _I love you_ , if Shiro’s shock would have given way to the glow of happiness or turned sour, if Shiro would have kept him at arm’s length and called him a cab and sent him a text later saying _I didn’t want anything serious_.

Shiro begins to snore softly behind him, his hair tickling Keith’s shoulder, and Keith holds tighter to the arm wrapped around his stomach, Shiro’s fingers still intertwined with his own. Shiro falls asleep so easily, and Keith thinks bitterly it’s because he doesn’t lie awake accompanied by foolish thoughts of whether friends with benefits can evolve into – something more.

Keith’s swallow feels loud in the silence. Is that what he wants? When did what they have become insufficient?

He hadn’t been looking for a boyfriend that night, or anything more than a one-night stand. Now, lying naked in Shiro’s arms, he supposes he has everything he wanted – but it isn’t enough anymore. He thinks about taking walks hand in hand, eating dinner at beautiful restaurants as more than a prelude to sex; even wishes he had parents, important people in his life just so he could introduce Shiro to them. Couple things. Building a life together things.

Perhaps a more pertinent question, Keith thinks miserably, would be to ask when the flutter of a new crush became the need to see Shiro as much as possible, to make him smile, to make him happy.

Shiro’s grip loosens after a few minutes. When he rolls onto his back, snores briefly stifled, Keith goes with him, resettling himself against Shiro’s chest and slinging a possessive leg over him for good measure.

“It’s just a number,” he snapped at Shiro, that very first time. He couldn’t have predicted how far they’d come, how his feelings would be allowed to change and grow, and Keith nuzzles Shiro’s jaw and wonders how Shiro would react to a proposition of something more. He’d never laugh – his rejection would be thoughtfully worded, carefully explained, and somehow a thorough analysis of all the reasons they can’t be together seems more painful than the idea of a flat _no_.

It’s easy to feel young and dumb. Keith’s tried and failed to appropriate Shiro’s perspective before, and he just can’t – Shiro’s twenty-nine, successful in his field and wealthy for his age. Keith looks at himself, which is far easier: a college kid surviving on bursary money, still learning and maturing; inexperienced and deferential to the older man. It’s difficult to understand what Shiro sees in him. It’s even more difficult to conjure a scenario in which Shiro would agree to date him.

The word _boyfriend_ seems so juvenile, and yet Keith can’t see himself as a _partner_. That’s what Shiro should be striving for, after all – an equal. Keith doesn’t even come close.

Sleep burdens his eyelids, and Keith draws the duvet over himself and comes to a final decision.

He’s always been skilled at shutting himself off.

 

* * *

 

Keith’s drunk, and there are stars on the ceiling.

Surprisingly, these two things are not mutually exclusive. Lance had presented Keith with the star projector nightlight a week ago, an early birthday present of sorts.

They’ve passed the dancing maniacally to ABBA stage, the spontaneous declarations of love stage, and now they’re lying on Keith’s bed staring up at the lights.

“He hates me,” Keith says miserably.

“He _doesn’t_ ,” Lance says, eye-roll palpable in his voice. “He has a life. Denture appointments, walking stick measurements – “

Keith elbows him hard in the ribs. “Shut up,” he says. There’s no bite to it: Lance makes the occasional comment, but Keith knows he doesn’t care about the age difference. He’s lucky to have such an… adventurous best friend.

“It’s been over a week,” he forces himself to say. Sober, he’d been reluctant to reveal just how long it’s been since he spoke to Shiro – longer still since he saw him – but drunk, he’s happy to divulge just how far he pushed Shiro away.

The thought makes him swallow painfully, hot with embarrassment. Deep down, he knows nothing has happened – no big confrontation and technically no accidental L-word – but a week’s break leaves him no choice in realising just how much he needs Shiro, how he craves his presence, how life is difficult when there’s no guarantee of returning to Shiro’s arms.

His defences crumbled, Keith realises as well that he can’t just wait for Shiro to come to him, freeze him out until he’s positive Shiro wants him too. He tries to remember who usually starts the conversations, but scrolling through their messages only produces dates on which Keith was at Shiro’s flat. Neither of them are fond of texting.

“I’m going to text him,” Keith announces.

“Okay,” Lance says lazily.

“I feel like you should be advising me against it.”

Lance hugs Mr. Hippo to his chest. “Well,” he says, something of a challenge in his voice, “if nothing happened, like you say, why shouldn’t you text him?”

Keith accidentally sighs aloud. Lance sits up with impressive speed.

“What happened?” he demands.

“Nothing,” Keith says defensively. To Lance’s raised eyebrows he repeats, “ _Nothing_ , really. I… I said a sentence with ‘love you’ in it – _no_ , I’m not telling you the context – and he made this face.” Lance leans over him to see the purported face. Keith pushes him away. “And he invited me to stay, on a weeknight – “

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Keith says impatiently. “I asked why.” Lance sighs. “He said he _wanted_ me to. That he wanted to come home to me, Lance. And now he’s ignoring me.” Keith coughs to cover the way his voice had broken.

Lance lies back down on his side, propping himself up on an elbow and narrowing his eyes at Keith, who stares at the ceiling to avoid his gaze. “But you haven’t messaged either.”

How could Keith message? He doubts thanking Shiro for the _honey, I’m home_ scene would go over too well.

He can’t help but feel that it scared Shiro off, that coming home from work to Keith in his flat was too real, too much. Keith hadn’t felt at the time that they were walking on eggshells, but now he squints at the crack in his ceiling and tries to remember if he’d done anything untoward, like take Shiro’s coat for him, or help himself to Shiro’s last Reese’s cup.

Keith hadn’t. He knows he hadn’t. Everything was fine, all up until Shiro kissed him goodbye and Keith got out of his car and then there was – nothing. A weekend went by without a text from Shiro on the Friday night, and now it’s the next Friday on and a texted conversation regarding a dog Keith saw on campus has been the extent of their communication.

“I don’t want to be clingy,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to be tagging along like some little kid, you know? I can’t be at his beck and call. I don’t want to be.”

“Keith,” Lance says. “I know I complain about Allura, but I _talk_ to her, you know? Even if she ignores all my incredible chat-up lines, I know we’re friends.”

“I don’t even know if Shiro wants to be friends,” Keith whispers to the stars. “And I don’t want to ask and end up losing him.”

Lance’s hand finds his. Keith prepares to scowl and shake him off, but Lance’s expression is entirely genuine, despite the alcohol. “How about we go to Dinah’s tomorrow?”

“That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

Lance winks. “Full of surprises.”

Keith wiggles his toes in his ratty slippers. “First weekend in ages we’ve spent together,” he says guiltily. “I’m sorry. I’ll find a balance.”

“There’s the positivity you need,” Lance says lightly, but when Keith looks at him he nods, and Keith knows Lance understands. “He _will_ text you.”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles. “Here’s hoping your Jedi mind tricks work.”

 

* * *

 

They sit at the bar for convenience: it’s not like Keith’s planning to get wasted, but with the possibility of his mood sinking he’d prefer the vodka in easy reach. He nurses a Guinness, and Lance starts off with a fruity concoction that comes with an umbrella and a probable diagnosis of heart disease.

“I asked Allura to join us later, if that’s okay,” Lance says, twirling his umbrella. Keith considers taking bets on whether it’ll end up in someone’s eye.

“Sure.” He likes Allura: she’s kind and beautiful and Keith likes to observe the way she turns Lance into a stammering, blushing mess.

 _In a cool way_ , he always reassures Lance.

Keith’s on his second Guinness when he finally texts Shiro. Nothing too eager – just a _I’m at Dinah’s if you want to meet_ – but enough that it sets Keith’s heart hammering in his chest. He develops the unfortunate habit of continually glancing at the door each time it bangs open, disappointed every time.

It’s Saturday night, he thinks, too morose for two pints down. Shiro could have other plans.

In his heart, he knows that Shiro will be working, glasses crooked on his nose even as he squints at his papers, tapping noisily at his laptop. The image makes Keith hurt a little. Usually, that scene takes place in bed, Keith snuggled against his shoulder and reading lines of text slightly too complicated for him.

Lance sucks down the rest of his drink and sets it down on the counter. “Be right back,” he says, too loud in Keith’s ear, and Keith nods, worrying at his lip.

It’s only been a minute when someone steps into his space and Keith glances up, prepared to see Lance and jumping instead at the approach of a man he doesn’t know. Keith turns away and stands, preparing to slip away to the bathroom and find Lance.

“I’ve seen you before,” the man says, and Keith’s unnerved, looking the man in the face and expecting recognition. There’s none, and Keith knows with a sudden certainty he’s never seen this man before. “With Shiro, correct?”

“Yes,” Keith says before his brain catches up. He shouldn’t be divulging any information to this stranger. He’s one to trust his instincts, and his instincts say _predator_. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet.” The man extends his hand for Keith to shake, and Keith does so with utmost reluctance. “I’m Sendak.”

Keith swallows, noticing with revulsion the way Sendak’s gaze dips to his throat. “Keith,” he says. “Look, I need to find my friend – “

“He stepped out,” Sendak says. He smiles like a shark. “Gives us time to get acquainted.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Keith blurts out, his first and last line of defence for a situation he’s never been in before.

Sendak _laughs_ , and Keith stiffens, straightening his spine and standing as tall as he can. Sendak has the advantage of towering height, however, and Keith despises having to tilt his chin up to look him in the face.

“You don’t,” Sendak says. “I know Shiro likes to give the appearance of wining and dining you, but you cannot possibly expect me to believe that, little one. I know what you are to him.” The way Sendak spits the last sentence makes Keith’s stomach turn, the fear that he really is just Shiro’s bit on the side, his plaything, a _toy_ , rising to the surface.

“You know Shiro?” he says instead of the dozen other things he might like to say, or yell, or scream.

“A colleague of mine.”

And to think other people know, too; the idea that Shiro’s colleagues exchange knowing glances and know, truly, that Shiro’s just using him. _Is that how Shiro talks about me?_ Keith wonders, but he knows it can’t be true. Shiro is kind, and _good_ , and they may have gone about this in the worst possible way but Keith knows Shiro cares for him.

The heavy front door creaks alarmingly for the first time since Sendak approached, but Keith can’t even turn to check who it is as Sendak’s heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “If you’re looking for an older man,” Sendak says, his smile sharp, “I’m more than willing to show you anything and everything. You don’t need Shiro to help you out anymore.”

“No,” Keith says firmly, shrugging out of Sendak’s grip. He raises his voice, relieved when more than a few people turn to look at him. “No. I want you to leave now.”

“What you want,” Sendak starts, and Keith dreads the end of his sentence but suddenly there’s a hand on _Sendak’s_ shoulder, one strong enough to yank him around to face the newcomer.

“Sendak,” Shiro says pleasantly, tone incongruous to the darkness of his expression, his clenched jaw. “Kindly fuck off, would you?”

It’s a challenge couched in unthreatening terms, and calculation is clear upon Sendak’s face as his gaze settles on Shiro. Sendak is taller, broader, but the passion in Shiro’s eyes speaks volumes.

Keith exhales when Sendak steps back. Shiro steps into the vacated space, his back to Keith and protective in a way that gets on Keith’s nerves and takes his breath away all at once.

“See you on Monday,” Shiro says. The confidence radiating from his voice is overwhelming and Keith bites his lip, resolving not to be easy just because Shiro’s auditioning to be his white knight.

Only when Sendak’s gone does Shiro turn to him, and Keith’s grateful that Shiro doesn’t move to touch him, although his gaze darts momentarily to the shoulder Sendak had gripped.

“Hell of a greeting,” Keith says, voice rough.

“Hell of a party,” Shiro says. He looks uncertain, then adds, “Can I hug you?”

Keith smiles shakily and moves forward, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s waist and burying his face in Shiro’s neck, letting out the sigh of relief he’d been holding in.

“Jesus,” he mutters to himself, and then to Shiro, “What a creep.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, his fingers on the nape of Keith’s neck. Keith doesn’t doubt that Shiro’s got his eyes open, watching Sendak leave, making sure he’s far enough away to not be a threat anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Keith says into his shoulder. He hesitates, and then says, “I – I never had to deal with that before.”

“I hope you never will again,” Shiro says quietly. He draws back first, holding Keith’s at arm’s length and looking at him, _really_ looking at him, head to toe in a way that speaks of concern rather than attraction. “You okay?”

Keith nods, pulling him close again. His fingers want to tremble, but they’re holding steady to Shiro. He relaxes his grip, rubbing his palm over Shiro’s broad shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You had it handled,” Shiro tells him, and yeah, Keith did, but Shiro added a level of certainty Keith’s grateful for. “He’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Keith says inanely. He looks into Shiro’s face, at red cheeks from the cold outside, into eyes that soften when they fix on Keith’s. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

He leans in, pauses a hair’s breadth from Shiro’s lips, hears the click of his swallow and kisses him, one hand moving into Shiro’s hair. Shiro lets himself be kissed, lets Keith’s mouth move softly over his, waits for the tentative touch of Keith’s tongue and then Shiro cups Keith’s face and kisses him hard, kisses him breathless. Keith’s eyes flutter closed and his body relaxes, melting against Shiro as the noise of the bar melts away.

“Come home with me,” Shiro says when they part, thumbs stroking Keith’s cheekbones. Overcome, Keith retains the presence of mind to twist from Shiro’s grip and search for Lance in the crowd. Mercifully, Lance is attempting to get the bartender’s attention and had missed the commotion. Much as Keith hates regaling Lance with life stories, far from a natural storyteller, he’s happy to have Lance hear about rather than witness this one.

“How about you come and meet Lance?” Keith says instead, half a challenge.

Shiro doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Alright,” and Keith allows himself a real smile, taking Shiro’s hand and leading.

“So this is Keith’s elusive man,” Lance says when Keith brings Shiro over, looking Shiro up and down and smirking in the least subtle way possible. They commandeer a booth, drinks leaving half-moons of condensation on the dark wood. The light above them is flickering; the leather is cracked.

It’s perfect, Keith thinks, and squeezes Shiro’s hand under the table.

It feels more real somehow, the two of them tucked in one side and Lance at the other. Lance is playing it cool despite the reverent edge to his gaze, and Keith gives him a small smile when Shiro isn’t looking. Lance draws Keith’s attention down to his hands and taps his ring finger and Keith scowls instead, face heating.

Conversation flows easy, but in Keith’s occasional glances at Shiro he finds his eyes dark, something behind them suggesting another kind of need.

“Lance,” comes another voice, and Lance stands up so fast he bumps his hip on the table.

“Allura! Hi,” he says. “You know Keith. And this is Shiro.”

Allura smiles as she greets them, head tilting in that way she has. Keith doesn’t doubt that she’s looking into his soul. “You want to get a drink?” she asks Lance.

“I’m buying,” Lance blurts out. He turns back to the table like an afterthought, and Keith does his level best not to look too knowing. “You guys coming?”

Keith glances at Shiro, whose expression is warm and amiable, but whose eyes drop to Keith’s lips.

“I think we’ll be off,” Keith says slowly, reassured when Shiro nods.

“I expect I’ll see you next week, anyway,” Allura says, giving Keith a swift kiss on the cheek when he stands.

“Wouldn’t miss our shitty canteen coffee dates for the world,” Keith says, shuffling out of the booth and shrugging into his coat. Allura extends her hand to Shiro when he stands as well, and Shiro hesitates a moment before shaking her hand with the prosthetic. Allura’s smile doesn’t waver.

“See you later,” Lance says. Keith doubts the dull flush of his cheeks is due to the temperature.

“You kids have fun,” he calls behind him, taking Shiro’s hand and leading them from the bar. Sendak’s nowhere to be seen, but Keith can’t help but breathe a little easier when they’re out on the pavement. “Did you drive here?” Keith asks.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Where to?”

Keith swallows, glancing up and down the road to avoid Shiro’s gaze. “Yours?” he offers quietly, letting his fringe hide his eyes.

He looks up when Shiro squeezes his hand. “Of course.”

“I think we should talk,” Keith blurts out, refusing to be lulled by Shiro’s warm expression and hand in his.

“I think so, too,” Shiro says, but he smiles when Keith makes eye contact, a reassurance Keith is glad of.

It’s a relief when they make it to Shiro’s apartment, Shiro’s keys in the door a familiar enough sound that Keith relaxes. Only three steps in, he pauses. Shiro comes up close behind him but doesn’t touch, and Keith turns around as Shiro opens his mouth to speak and shuts it again.

Keith takes a moment to look at Shiro in the light. He admires Shiro’s neat undercut, never a hair out of place until Keith gets his hands on him; appreciates Shiro’s crow’s feet with the precious knowledge of how often Shiro smiles; looks him up and down and feels giddy all over again that all that muscle, all that heart, belongs to him.

They need to discuss, resolve, plan – but for now, Keith rests easy. Shiro didn’t have to join him at Dinah’s; didn’t have to invite him home, but he did.

“I promise we’ll talk,” Shiro says. Keith notices his fingers are twitching, wanting to touch. “But right now – I need you, can I – “

Keith swallows and nods and thinks _I need you, too_. He lets himself be kissed, pushing deep into Shiro’s embrace and revelling in the security of Shiro’s arms tight around him, closing his eyes as Shiro’s hand winds into his hair.

Their kiss is sweet, gentle, exploratory; like a first time, and Keith isn’t surprised when their lips part and Shiro just holds him, Keith’s face tucked into his neck and arms tight around his waist. They breathe together, heartbeats and breaths becoming one, and Shiro’s hand is steady on the back of Keith’s neck.

“I missed you,” Shiro says. Keith can’t see his face – isn’t sure he could handle it, either – but Shiro’s tone is painfully genuine.

“I missed you too,” Keith says. He feels like they’re in limbo, caught between one label and the next, and it’s with a heavy heart that he swallows and says, “I want to talk now.”

Shiro parts from him with an ease Keith envies; something in his chest tightens as Shiro’s hand leaves his hip. “Okay,” Shiro says. His eyes are kind, and as Keith follows him further into the apartment, the thought of confessing his feelings seems less daunting. The room is warm and Keith takes off his coat, moving to hang it up as Shiro settles on the sofa, gaze burning into Keith’s back.

Keith sits beside him, a healthy distance away. Shiro doesn’t shy away from him, catching and holding Keith’s gaze as he waits for him to speak.

 _Amazing how you can spend hours thinking about what you want_ , Keith thinks, _and still have no idea what to say_.

“This isn’t working,” he starts nervously. The eye contact is a burden more than a relief; it forces words out of his mouth. “I – I want more out of this. With you.”

“What do you want, Keith?” Shiro asks, his tone irritatingly level and calm. If he’s nervous – and he probably isn’t, Keith thinks sourly, has probably had this conversation before – it doesn’t show.

“What do _you_ want?” Keith challenges instead.

“Talk to me,” Shiro says. Keith bites the inside of his cheek.

“A straight answer,” he snaps. “I’d rather not feel alone in wanting more from you than sex. I liked what we did the other day, being in your apartment when you came home, and then you just froze me out.”

Shiro looks away then, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth. “I want more, too,” is all he says. “Is it – do you want to date?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Keith’s breath catches at the sudden honesty. “Keith – I cooled things off because I had to wait.”

Keith suspects there’s something he’s missing, some enormous clue blocking and mocking him. “Why?”

“Our age difference,” Shiro says hesitantly. “It had to be you.” He takes Keith’s silence as an invitation to continue, “I couldn’t put that pressure on you; especially not right now, with college. You don’t have to chain yourself to me – you’re so young.”

“I’m an adult,” Keith says, careful not to infuse his tone with indignation or anger or some other immature response. He suspects this is something he’ll need to keep affirming, and he doesn’t hold that against Shiro. He wouldn’t even blame Shiro for saying no, if he gently rejected Keith from his life – the age difference will always be something to contend with. Keith feels foolish for not even considering it.

“I know.”

“So,” Keith says, “is that a yes?”

“I asked you,” Shiro reminds him, smiling. He finally bridges the gap, taking Keith’s hand and interlocking their fingers on the sofa between them. Keith acquiesces, shifting until he’s beside Shiro, thighs touching. Still he waits, and Shiro says, “Keith?”

“We’re dating,” Keith confirms, both to Shiro and himself. When Shiro nods, Keith kisses him.

They kiss long and dirty enough that Keith tugs them upright, meaning to move to the bedroom, but Shiro pulls back and looks Keith up and down, expression free from concern; all attraction, this time.

“Show me where he touched you,” Shiro demands, voice deep the way Keith loves.

“Just my shoulder,” Keith breathes.

Shiro steps into his space, hands going to Keith’s buttons and undoing them slowly, as if every inch of skin revealed is something to be appreciated. Keith looks into his face, observes the way Shiro’s biting the inside of his cheek.

“Just my shoulder,” he repeats quietly. Shiro reaches the bottom and pushes the shirt away, letting it flutter to the floor. He puts one hand on Keith’s arm, kisses his lips once and then bends to kiss his shoulder. The mark Shiro had pressed there two weeks ago has long since faded, but Keith remembers it as the claim it was, long before Sendak.

Calling this silly and possessive is on the tip of his tongue, but Keith stays silent as Shiro’s lips travel back to his neck, pausing at the juncture between neck and shoulder and pressing an open mouth there. Keith’s breath hitches at the flicker of Shiro’s tongue as he starts sucking a mark.

Silly and possessive it may be, but he can't deny it lights a flame within him.

He clasps Shiro’s head to him, fingers moving into his hair and tugging when Shiro’s done, pulling Shiro’s mouth back to his and pushing his other hand under Shiro’s shirt, rucking it up and splaying a possessive palm over the broad span of Shiro’s shoulders.

He fumbles with Shiro’s buttons as Shiro’s fingers dip to pop the button on his jeans, deftly unzipping his fly and pushing inside to cup the hardening shape of Keith’s cock. Keith doesn’t know how he manages every button but eventually Shiro’s shirt joins his on the floor and he’s arching into Shiro’s hand.

Shiro pulls back and Keith lists after him with a gasp at the sudden lack of touch. He steps out of his jeans, watching Shiro to see what he’ll do next.

“Take them off,” Shiro says.

Swallow audible in the silence, Keith takes off his boxers with a little less grace than he might have liked. He’s hard, now, the display obscene in the space between them.

He only has a moment to admire the bulge in Shiro’s jeans before Shiro comes back to him, hands going to Keith’s ass as Keith’s arms loop around his neck. It still takes him aback when Shiro lifts him, strong arms around him and his legs around Shiro’s waist, but Shiro deposits him on the kitchen island of all places, standing between his legs and kissing him like he can’t bear to move away.

He does, though, and Keith feels abruptly exposed, his nudity illicit in the domestic setting. Shiro’s eyes drag over him.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he says. Keith touches his face in an attempt to hide the blush, but Shiro sees and smiles anyway.

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith says, more than a little plaintive.

“Patience,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes for Keith’s benefit, but his hands finally go to his jeans and then he’s kicking them away.

Two months of getting undressed together, and Shiro still takes Keith’s breath away.

Keith follows the hair on his chest down to where it thins before disappearing into his boxers, and swallows against his dry throat even as Shiro’s fingers slip beneath his waistband and begin drawing them down.

Perched on the counter, Keith unconsciously spreads his legs a little wider.

Shiro’s cock hangs heavy between his legs and Keith licks his lips, eyes darting back to Shiro’s face in time to realise Shiro had seen him looking.

Keith leans back and rests on his forearms, stretched full-length over the kitchen island he’d always thought was egregiously luxurious even for someone worth as much as Shiro.

Now, he couldn’t care less.

“Get over here,” he says, taking his cock in hand and lazily stroking, watching Shiro bite his lip. Laid out like this, Keith looks, _feels_ like an invitation, and he holds his breath as Shiro advances.

When he gets close enough, Keith hooks his legs over Shiro’s shoulders, baring himself in a way as vulnerable as it is thrilling. It still comes as a surprise when Shiro bends and takes his cock in his mouth.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps first, thighs tensing around Shiro’s neck. He tries to contain himself but arches up anyway, forcing Shiro’s hands to his hips to hold him down. Shiro pulls off with a wet sound and closes his lips around the head instead, tongue flicking through Keith’s slit and pressing to the vein underneath until Keith whimpers, sinking his restless hands into Shiro’s hair.

“That must be killing your back,” Keith pants, and a whine leaves his lips as Shiro pulls away.

“I hope that wasn’t a dig at my age,” he says, eyes glittering dangerously.

“No, daddy.” The word makes him shiver with the thrill of it; he uses it sparingly enough that he can count on its effect on Shiro when he does.

Shiro isn’t the first to do this to him, but he’s by far the _best_ – Keith likes to think he can last in bed, but Shiro between his legs makes it impossible. Keith tips his head back, looks away from Shiro’s mouth stretched around him in an attempt to stave off his orgasm, but then Shiro takes him in properly, sinking down and bobbing his head until Keith’s in his _throat_.

“ _Shiro_ ,” is the only warning Keith can manage before he comes, fingers clenched tight in Shiro’s hair before he remembers to relax, lying flat on the counter and gasping at the ceiling.

He struggles up onto his forearms after a moment, overwhelmed as Shiro wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and smiles at him, a little too smug.

“Missed seeing you like this, too,” he confesses, and Keith can’t help but smile, carefully sliding his legs from Shiro’s shoulders and sitting up. Shiro kisses him as soon as he’s within reach, tongue swiping over Keith’s bottom lip and Keith opens for him, hand on the back of Shiro’s neck keeping him close.

“Hop down,” Shiro says, and Keith takes his hand and obeys, toes curling on the cool floor. “Back in a sec,” Shiro adds, and Keith leans back against the counter and happily watches Shiro walk away.

When he returns, he brings lube and condoms, setting them down before approaching again, hands smoothing over Keith’s full-body flush. He kisses Keith sweet on the mouth, and then turns him around. Hands move over Keith’s shoulders, down his arms; Keith holds his breath as bigger fingers slide over his own, guiding them to rest on the counter, just over shoulder-width apart.

Keith wants to break the silence, lighten the serious tone that’s settled between them, but Shiro straightens up, hands skating over Keith’s ribs and making him shiver before resting on his hips. Shiro pulls him down until Keith’s bent almost in half, gravity a struggle until he relents and braces his weight on the counter.

“Good boy,” Shiro breathes, and he bends and kisses Keith’s neck for his trouble.

Keith exhales and reconsiders: the quiet between them isn’t oppressive – just space to breathe. The surety of knowing Shiro will take care of him is enough.

He flexes his fingers on the counter, tense all over at the sound of Shiro’s movements behind him, the click of a cap opening, his audible intake of breath as Shiro approaches him again. Shiro keeps his apartment warm, but Keith’s skin floods with goosebumps as Shiro’s hand returns to his thigh. He tenses as Shiro moves forward, cock slipping between Keith’s legs and dragging over his skin for one delicious second before he pulls away.

Only for a moment, though – slick fingers slide between Keith’s cheeks and Keith bites his lip as Shiro rubs over his hole, pressure gentle but insistent. It isn’t long before he pushes one finger inside, moving in slow circles, stretching Keith enough to give him another. Keith moans, cock filling again as Shiro brushes his prostate, curling two fingers against it and before moving away, making Keith tense waiting for Shiro to do it again.

“Relax, baby,” Shiro says, his other hand smoothing over Keith’s waist. Keith exhales, letting go of his apprehension with it. It should be easier, not seeing Shiro’s face and not worrying about his own expressions, but Keith feels taut as a bowstring with the inability to see what’s coming. “Do you trust me?” Shiro asks then, and Keith doesn’t hesitate before nodding.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good.”

With the addition of his third finger, Shiro finds Keith’s prostate again with ease, the hand on Keith’s hip tightening as Keith whimpers and pushes back, aborted thrusts pushing Shiro’s fingers deeper inside him. His thighs tremble, and for one unsteady second Keith thinks he can’t hold himself up, fingers curling on the counter even as Shiro’s fingers curl inside him, picking up the pace and fucking Keith in deep drives that steal the breath from his lungs.

“I’m ready,” he gasps. “C’mon, been like two weeks – “

Shiro withdraws his fingers, sudden and with a noise that makes Keith flush. “Did you miss me?” he asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Only a little,” Keith says. The smile is wiped off his face when Shiro moves, fitting his body to Keith’s and kissing his hair.

“Only a little?” Shiro asks. Keith’s breath catches in his throat at the heat and promise of Shiro hard against him, a steady burning at his back that only serves to tell Keith _yes_ , he missed Shiro, he missed this, missed Shiro’s lips on his neck and voice in his ear. His own fingers, his own toys weren’t enough, not after Shiro, and Keith doubts somehow that anything or anyone else will ever be enough.

“Mm,” he hums. “Why don’t you show me what I’ve been missing?”

He gets a laugh in response, but Shiro moves away and within seconds Keith hears the tearing of a condom wrapper and shivers all over, remembering to keep his feet where Shiro had placed them, keep himself bared to Shiro’s gaze.

There’s only a moment’s pause before Shiro returns to him, one hand going to Keith’s hip where it belongs and other hand guiding his cock to Keith’s hole.

“Okay?” Shiro asks, because it’s just the tip and Keith’s panting.

“Yeah,” he says roughly, “keep going.”

Shiro’s always gentle during this part; they’re both conscious of the risk of him hurting Keith, _really_ hurting him, but it still kills Keith how slowly Shiro presses forward, inch by precious inch as Keith hangs his head and breathes through it.

“Alright?” Shiro asks when he’s fully seated, squeezing Keith’s hip as his other hand caresses Keith’s ribs, too gentle to tickle.

“Give me a minute,” Keith says, experimentally moving his hips once and holding his breath at the slight burn of moving too soon.

“Whatever you need,” Shiro says.

Keith steadies his breathing, focusing on Shiro’s touch and not the way his body has stretched to accommodate him, but the tension melts away and Keith clenches around Shiro, smirking at his resulting moan.

“Okay,” he says, and with that Shiro thrusts shallowly, once; a test. Keith bites his lip, back arching as Shiro begins to thrust in earnest, listening to the change in Shiro’s breathing.

“You feel so good, Keith,” Shiro tells him, and Keith’s cock twitches at the praise. Shiro moves a hand between his shoulder blades, pressing Keith forward, angling him just right. Keith thinks of how they must look, himself bent in two and Shiro standing, tall and powerful above him, taking his pleasure. Shiro fucks him in long, deep drives of his hips and Keith can't catch his breath, fireworks bursting all over his body and  _God_ , he missed this, being pinned down and taking Shiro's cock and knowing he'll ache in the morning but it'll be worth it, a delicious hurt he keeps coming back to.

“So do you,” Keith chokes out. Shiro finds his prostate with unerring accuracy and fucks hard against it and Keith can’t breathe for moaning, wanting to reach behind him and grip Shiro’s thigh but unable to let go of the counter keeping him upright. He wants a hand around his cock, too, but that depends entirely on Shiro’s level of benevolence.

Shiro pauses suddenly and bends with Keith, a hand sliding over his, fingers interlocking. Everywhere Shiro is pressed up against him feels white-hot and Shiro resumes his previous pace, one hand on Keith’s hip keeping him right where Shiro wants him.

“Sweet thing,” Shiro says under his breath, and the uncertainty of whether Shiro meant for him to hear it burns Keith hotter.

He’s close, heat building and tightening behind his belly button, and Keith turns his head and lets Shiro’s lips brush his cheek, eyes squeezing shut with his desperation to last.

“I’m close,” he gasps and Shiro finds his prostate again, hitting it on every thrust. Shiro breaks their joined hands and curls his fingers around Keith’s cock and Keith comes with a sob, rocking back into Shiro’s thrusts and shutting his eyes again with the force of it.

“Fuck, baby,” Shiro breathes against his ear, movement never ceasing, and Keith arches his back, tilts his hips up, clenches around Shiro as many times as he can bear with increasing sensitivity.

“Come on,” he goads, smirking when Shiro’s fingers close around his hip again, “Shiro, come for me – “

“ _Keith_ ,” is all Shiro manages before he comes, grip turning bruising, moaning against Keith’s neck. Keith flushes at the sight of his white knuckles on the counter, legs turning to water but resolving to remain steady as Shiro rides out the aftershocks, cock twitching inside Keith.

Keith’s starting to ache, too aware of how big Shiro is inside him, stretching him wider than is comfortable after his orgasm. Shiro kisses his shoulder and pulls out carefully, making them both groan, and Keith stays where he is as Shiro’s footsteps pad away to dispose of the condom. When he returns he takes Keith in his arms and Keith gratefully melts against him, letting Shiro take his weight.

“You good?” Shiro murmurs. He turns Keith around, pressing him against the island Keith’s sure he’ll have a Pavlovian response to from now on, and brushes the damp hair from Keith’s forehead.

Keith nods, feeling better in Shiro’s arms. It’s early yet, and much as Keith wants to crawl into bed Shiro helps him to the shower, unsuccessfully hiding his smirk when Keith finds himself limping.

In the bathroom mirror, he catches sight of the mark Shiro had made, touching it reverently. “Come on,” Shiro says, extending a hand as Keith steps into the shower with him. They’re no stranger to this intimacy, washing each other’s hair and Shiro presses a damp kiss to the mark on Keith’s shoulder.

“Possessive,” Keith says, words almost lost to the rush of water. “Even for you.”

“Only for you,” Shiro says, lips twitching with a smile.

Keith bundles himself in Shiro’s robe when they get out, leaving Shiro to wrap a towel around his waist and ruffle Keith’s wet hair for the thievery. Once dry, Keith sits on Shiro’s bed, watching Shiro’s reflection in the mirror worry at his hair.

“You wanna watch a film?” he asks, just loud enough for Shiro to hear.

Shiro smiles without looking at him, too focused on the comb in his hand. “Something we actually like this time.”

“Hot chocolate?” Keith adds hopefully, already dreading making sense of Shiro's chaotic DVD pile.

“You know where the machine is,” comes the answer, and Keith laughs.

He switches on the machine and listens to it hum to life, hands deep in the pockets of Shiro’s sweatpants. It’s just starting to rain outside, big windows illuminated by an unusually bright moon, and Keith ignores the quiet click of the bedroom door shutting and pretends to be surprised when Shiro sneaks up on him, arms tight around Keith’s waist.

“So,” Keith says, the thought making him smile too wide to hide it, “you’re my boyfriend.”

Shiro groans theatrically, ducking his head to Keith’s neck. “You’re my partner,” he says fondly.

 _Partner_ , Keith thinks, _has a really nice ring to it_.

**Author's Note:**

> i have four essays to do but this was the priority
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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